


Scar-face

by plaidagladalecki



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Scars, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 17:58:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7325014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidagladalecki/pseuds/plaidagladalecki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sam and Dean's dangerous escapades actually result in some gnarly scars, and Dean feels insecure about his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scar-face

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings: Scars, self-hate

Dean stood in front of the full length mirror on the sliding closet door of their motel room, looking himself up and down. This was a regular routine, but not with the connotations that came with this particular experience. Dean, not surprisingly, thought that he was a pretty good-looking guy. Chicks seemed to dig him and he had no problem picking up girls all across town. But, a recent werewolf hunt resulted in three large claw marks getting dug into the skin and bone along Dean’s right cheekbone, only adding to the several other scars that split his eyebrows and lips, and a few more smaller ones scattered across his temples and opposite cheek. Usually, girls found those scars pretty dashing. They thought he was a reckless bad boy, which Dean didn’t have a problem with. That's what he was, after all: reckless. But, last night, at a local bar, Dean had a far different experience.  
Moments after Dean sat down to order a drink, a young, frisky blonde girl sat down on Dean’s left side, eyeing him up. On any other night, Dean would have been totally down for this, but he was still adjusting to his three new cuts that would surely form some gnarly scars given a few months. She started up the conversation, asking if he “came here often” and if he would like to have a drink with her. Dean quickly, maybe a little too harshly, dismissed her, saying that he wasn't in the mood. The girl was persistent and kept scooting closer to him, and finally, Dean decided to turn to her.  
The look on her face was of nothing Dean had ever seen before. She looked utterly disgusted, finally noticing his new deformities. She was speechless. After a few seconds of rude staring, she promptly got up from the barstool and stomped away. Dean downed his shot, slapped a few bills onto the counter and proceeded to drive back home, feeling embarrassed.  
Now, here he was at two in the morning, staring at himself in the mirror and finally noticing just how horrid his scars and bruises truly were. All he had was the light of the neon sign of the motel to see by. He didn't want to turn on any of the lights inthe room because Sam was already asleep and snoring loudly.  
Dean started with his face and worked his way down, slowly picking himself apart and analyzing how much he truly hated how he looked. It was all intensified by the harsh blue lighting of the sign outside. He had the three gashes across his right cheek from the werewolf, in addition to two slits through his left eyebrow and one through his right. There were two pink-white cracks on his left temple and another near his hairline on the same side. There was one right across the bridge of his nose and a few more, deeper this time, adorning either side of his jaw and a few more splitting his lips, and that was just his face alone.  
There were several slashes and stab wounds dappling his chest and abdomen area, not to mention a few rug burns and actual fire burns. A few BB wounds and real bullet wounds danced across his thighs and arms. His back and sides were full of more claw marks and slashes, and he finally saw just how monstrous he truly looked. He began to think that no one could ever love him or see past the wounds of his past, and no one would ever understand his harsh lifestyle.  
Dean stood there in front of the mirror skulking for a few more minutes, not noticing that Sam’s snoring had stopped. The sheets ruffled a little bit, and Sam got up from the bed and walked over to where Dean was, wrapping his large arms around his brother’s waist and gently kissing him, three times, one on each of his newest injuries.  
“What’s the matter, Dee, huh?”  
Dean didn't reply. He didn't want to open up to Sam about the girl at the bar or about anything he was feeling right now. But, somehow, Sam had kissed him where he was hurting most, and not just physically.  
“It’s nothing, Sammy, go back to sleep.”  
Nestling his chin into the crook of Dean’s collarbone, Sam whispered, “Dean, baby, I know it's not nothing. You look at yourself a lot, but not like this. Not at prime partying hour.” Sam placed a few more kisses on more of Dean’s scars, feeling his stubble against his own. Sam had some scars of his own, too, but not as badly as some of Dean’s.  
“I hate my scars, Sammy. I hate all of them. They're disgusting. I look like fucking Edward Scissorhands or some shit and I'm tired of people looking at me like some gross freak. God, Sammy, you should have seen the look on her face--”  
“Hey, hey,” Sam said, turning his brother around to face him. “Who gives a shit what that girl thought, alright? It’s okay, you’re okay,” he said, pulling Dean in closer and clutching his short hair in his hands. Dean started to sob. “Shh, shh, Dee, baby. Come on now, don’t be like this.” But Sam knew it was no use. Dean couldn't be consoled, he always had to work out his issues on his own accord. Sam wrapped his arm around Dean’s shoulder and walked back to the bed, laying themselves down on top of the sheets.  
Facing each other, Sam let Dean cry, stroking his hair and tracing patterns onto his face, wiping tears with the back of his index finger when necessary. They remained like that for a while until Dean stopped crying, and Sam kissed Dean’s forehead a few times.  
“I love you, Dean. You’re beautiful to me and each scar is a reminder of how strong and brave you are. You go into situations so confidently, in ways I could never do, and I've always admired that about you. So, who gives a shit what you look like? I love everything about you, and you remember that, okay? Shh, baby, no more of that tonight, alright?” After a moment of quiet, Sam leaned in across the bed and kissed Dean’s lips, tasting the salt from a few shed tears. Dean kissed back after a little bit, and Sam finally felt like he had said the right things.  
“I love you so much, Sammy. Where would I be without you?”  
“I don’t like to think about that,” Sam said, placing one, sweet kiss on each of Dean’s scars, working all the way down his body. When he was finished, he began placing more delicate kisses on random parts of Dean’s face.  
“Sammy, I don't have any scars there, if that’s what you're going for,” Dean said, smiling.  
“Ah, hold right there. Just like that,” Sam replied, placing kisses on the crinkles Dean’s eyes made when he smiled, and a few more along his jawline and the tip of his nose. “I know, Dee. I'm kissing the places I love the most.”  
“Oh my God, you’re disgusting,” Dean said, beginning to chuckle.  
“I know. I love you too,” Sam said.  
After a while of holding each other, lying on top of the covers, the two fell asleep in each other's arms, and Dean saw himself a different way the next morning.


End file.
